Nothing is Sound
by Tilthanial
Summary: Montross is an Imperial Guardsman whose only wish is to get home. STORY IS DISCONTINUED.
1. A Bridge too Far

Montross ducked under the ork hammer and thrust upwards with a fallen Guardsman's bayonet. The steel blade slipped between two ragged armor plates and plunged deep into the ork's chest. An anguished cry rose from the gutted monster before it keeled over and into the crowded melee one story down. A second Ork rounded the corner and he fired a burst into its face. The ork gurgled and collapsed in a heap by the stairwell. As he wiped off gore and dust from his uniform, his vox-carrier tapped him on the shoulder.

"Sir, we are being overrun. We don't have enough men to hold this position." The man broke off and picked up a fallen stick grenade. He lobbed it back into the ork throng and was rewarded by the sound of screaming orks and burning flesh. "Phosphorus, nice."

Montross paused and fired his pistol clip into the massed ranks of orks below. "Sound the retreat. As soon as the men clear I'll detonate the charges. Have them regroup at the bridge entra-"

The Guardsman covering the stairway disappeared under a sea of green flesh. Somehow the soldier managed to unpin his grenades before being hacked apart by the crude ork blades. Montross threw his lasgun blade first into the orks on top of him. The bayonet pierced a grenade pouch and stuck deep into a cluster of grenades. The resulting explosion lifted Montross off of his feet and hurled him onto the street below. He landed with a thud on his left arm. Chunks of flesh and bones splattered all around him, soaking his once-pristine uniform.

A squad of Guardsmen huddled around Montross and helped him to his feet. Nursing his bruised arm, he met their anxious gazes with a cool and steady eye. They were all scared. "Pull back to the bridge." He said, sounding as calm as if he was out on a stroll in the park. "What happened to Hillern? I need to contact HQ."

One of the Guardsmen pointed shakily behind Montross. Turning around, he saw the headless corpse of the vox-caster lying in a pool of blood and brains. The sight nearly made him gag. He had seen worse before but something about the sight made his stomach turn in disgust. "Never mind," he said, trying to maintain a show of bravado for his men. "I'll send the men back personally. Go find defensive positions by the bridge."

The men saluted and hurried off. Before leaving one handed Montross a bag of pistol clips. He accepted the ammunition and waved the man off with a grateful smile. Montross watched them go before spinning on his heel to face the incoming horde. All across the 500 meter line his men were being overrun. Over four hundred men had started across the bridge; now there were about two hundred left. There were simply too many orks.

Grabbing his bullhorn, Montross flipped it on to full power and shouted as close to the receiver as he could "Fall Back! Back to the bridge! Pack and go boys." His voice sounded harsh and grating against the mike.

Clumps of men began to detach from the melee and trickle back to the bridge. The men fell back steadily, firing as they retreated. Some ran, others carried wounded. The unit's banner fluttered faintly in the breeze as a full squad guarded its retreat. They retreated steadily, defying the ork ranks. No less then four fell holding the banner aloft, but they stayed as steady as when they had started across the bridge. The sight filled Montross with pride.

Most of the men passing by weren't recognizable because of the gore and smoke. Still, Montross noticed several familiar faces. Isaac, Neilson, Mark, Richards… So many but so few. These were men he had grown up with. They all deserved better.

The vox-caster crackled beside Montross as it picked up a broadcast. Without taking his eyes off of the orks Montross reached over and picked it up. "Montross here."

The voice that came back was not reassuring. "This is Commissar Gorsk. What is your status?"

A handful of bullets skipped past Montross' feet, causing him to jump. "Things are pretty sporty down here, sir. When can we expect reinforcements?"

"Hold tight, Montross. You are on you own until-"

A luck shot snapped the wire connecting the mike to the vox. Montross cursed and raised his bolt pistol. The pistol barked twice and the ork fell just twenty feet away. It was time to fall back with the rest of his unit.

One lone Chimera sat at the mouth of the bridge. Only one had survived the trek across the bridge. Thirteen others lay smoking on the bridge. An overturned Leman Russ clogged up the bridge. There was no escape. This would be a last stand.

Montross climbed over a barricade and spun to face the orks. Not one ork could be seen. The air stank heavily of the orks, but they had all disappeared from view. He frowned darkly. That meant one thing; an all-out charge was coming. They didn't have enough men to stop the thousand some orks facing them.

An inquisitive Private peeked out over the barrier and whistled. "Man, do they clear out fast. I'd give anything for that to be permanent."

"So would we all." Neilson pushed the Private aside and placed an auto-cannon on the barrier. There was an ominous clack as the bolt slid into position. "They'll be a'coming, don't you worry."

As if on queue the whole ork force rose and leapt over the frontline barricades. They were uncountable. The ground shook as they advanced, baying loudly their war-cries. It was then that Montross became truly afraid.

Seventy lasrifles opened up as they came, taking down scores of them with each deadly volley. Still they came on. The auto-cannons heavy bolters belched lead into the ork ranks, cutting huge swaths in the charging mob. When they came close enough the men began lobbing grenades. Orks disintegrated as the shrapnel and fire ripped through them. The front ranks began to slow down as they stumbled and tripped over the massive clumps of dead. Montross emptied the last clip of his pistol and grabbed a demo charge. All along the line men followed his example. When he judged the distance to be right he primed it and hurled the charge and leapt away from the barricade.

The resulting chain of explosions deafened them. A solid inferno engulfed the barricade. The screaming rush of hot air pinned them all to the ground. The blast lasted for five seconds. Montross rose shakily, ears ringing. For a moment he thought that they had stopped the ork assault. Then the first green-skin hurdled the barricade.

Montross lashed out at the ork and caught it in the throat with his chainsword. The ork's head toppled off and it fell at his feet, giving him a full view of the incoming horde. Hundreds still remained on the other side of the barricade. They surged past the fire and crossed the barricade before most of the men could respond. Dozens of men fell screaming within seconds as the orks smashed into them. Montross picked up the ork's bolter and glanced around anxiously. His men were fighting desperately, but there were too many orks.

Bayonets clashed against axe-blades as the men struggled in their final fight. Neilson manned his position at the auto-cannon to the end until, overwhelmed, he detonated the ammunition and engulfed the nearby orks in flames. Isaac stood firm on top of the barricade wielding two chainswords and hacking apart every ork within reach. A rocket round finally caught him in the chest and threw him off of the barricade into a knot of orks, where it exploded, killing them all. Mark stayed loyally by Montross' side, covering his back and holding a dozen orks at bay with his pistol and an ork sword. He fell when two orks ripped him apart from both sides. Montross last saw Richards rallying the bolter crews. He single-handedly slew a brace of Nobz and an Ork Boss with his shotgun before succumbing to a hail of lead.

The Chimera opened up with its multiple guns, exacting vengeance on the orks. Three Guardsmen armed with flamers stood on top pouring plasma onto the orks below. Behind them stood a Guardsman with a melta-gun. He valiantly stood his ground and snapped off shot after shot at Ork Nobz and leaders. The barrel had overheated long ago and his hands had fused to the barrel as he did not let the gun rest. After every shot he bellowed out the name of one of his squadmates. Montross recognized him as Private First Class Gael. The Guardsman had lost his entire squad the day before when they went on patrol deep in the city. He was the only man out of thirteen to come back alive.

The melta-gun, fired one time too many, burst into flames in Gaels' hands. Montross watched in horror as the flames licked at the man and set his whole body on fire. Gael leapt off of the Chimera and tackled a Nobz, incinerating them both. The Nob must have been carrying a demo pack because it disintegrated as soon as Gael hit him. Everything within a five meter radius was consumed in flames by the explosion.

Montross clambered up the side of the Chimera and steadied the oversized bolter. He picked a clump of unengaged orks and yanked the trigger. An impressive stream of bullets tore through the orks and splayed their bodies out against the barricade. He calmly switched targets and began systematically mowing down clump after clump of the vile orks.

Only a handful of men were left. Two of the flamer-carrying men had fallen to ork bullets. Montross remorsefully shoved their bodies off of the Chimera and detonated the fuel packs. Each man took out a dozen orks when they went up. The third man refused to crouch down; instead he steadfastly remained at the head of the Chimera and cleared a path in front of the driver's hatch. Out of the throng came a sticky bomb, which latched onto his chest. The man screamed in anger and leapt into the orks ranks, finger still pumping on the trigger. Steaming gore splashed against Montross' cheek as the bomb erupted.

At Montross' order the Chimera pulled into third gear and began to rumble forward, crushing the orks underneath its treads. The crew members inside fired their small arms out of the hatches, taking down more orks than they could count.

The orks pushed each other aside as they scrambled to escape the advancing Chimera. Sandwiched between the barricade and the Chimera, many orks lost their nerve. The press of bodies reached the very edges of the bridge. Montross saw several orks fall off the bridge and plunge into the raging waters below. He couldn't keep his aim steady because of the constant jarring caused by the dead bodies. He finally resorted to firing blindly into the orks.

Suddenly Montross noticed a lone ork making is way through the throng. He had several old-fashioned RPG's on his back. Montross shouted a warning to his driver and struggled to take aim at the ork. He watched helplessly as his rounds bounced off a personal deflector shield. The ork calmly planted its feet and took aim at the Chimera. The ork waited until the Chimera was right on top of it before firing. The explosion threw Montross several feet into the air and he landed on the other side of the ruined tank. The last thing he saw before blacking out was the eyes of one of his dead sergeants staring unseeingly at him. They were accusing, and filled with pain.


	2. Unlikely Rescuer

Blinking lights filled Montross' vision when he awoke. He could tell by the pattern that he was aboard an Imperial ship. That was reassuring. His body responded with perfect coordination as he blinked away sleep and turned his head to check out his surroundings. Maybe he had lucked out and was on a medical ship…

Commissar Gorsk thrust his leering face as close to Montross' as possible. "It's nice to see that you've finally graced us with your presence. You've kept us waiting a long time, Montross." He spat out the last few words. Montross, accustomed to his tirades, wiped off the spittle and yawned.

"Yes, sir, may I say just how much I missed your cheery face?"

Gorsk's face turned a shade of red and he spun away from the bed. Montross knew he had KP duty coming. Then he remembered the bridge battle. There is no way he should have survived. He should be dead, lying on the bridge among the orks. What happened?

"Sir," Montross propped himself up on his unbruised elbow. "What happened at the bridge? How did I come here?"

"Well, soldier," Gorsk smiled cruelly and pointed at a lone figure standing outside the room. Montross could not see him through the tinted glass, but he knew he was there. "Why don't you ask him? After all, he dragged your sorry butt offplanet, which is more than you deserved after failing to hold back the orks' advance."

"But-" Gorsk left before Montross could protest. The door slid shut momentarily. Gorsk was probably exchanging words with the colonel or lieutenant or whoever had rescued him. Montross could not decide whether to thank him or hate him for dragging him away from his fellow comrades. Surviving the battle felt worse than dying in it.

Montross was stunned when the door slid open again. It was not an ordinary Imperial Guard soldier that marched through, but a fully armored and decorated Black Templar Space Marine. The massive man bent down slightly to enter the room and approached his bed. Montross hurried to throw a weak salute.

"At ease, soldier." The Marine said. His voice was harsh and grating, as if his throat was scarred. As the man stopped by the foot of Montross' bed he saw that the man indeed had an implant on his voice box. Rough scars covered every inch of the Marine's bare skin. "There is no need for ceremony in this room. Your Commissar has graciously decided to leave for a few minutes."

Montross dropped the salute but remained sitting stiffly in his bed. A cold sweat broke out on his skin. _What was a Space Marine doing here?_ _What he had done to deserve this…honor or curse, he knew not._

"My Brothers and I found you on the 17th Bridge during a raid one week ago." The Space Marine looked at a handheld tablet-device as he spoke. He was most likely reading his combat record. "Your unit fought impressively from what we saw. From what Intel we have it looks like your battalion held off a whole corps-sized force of orks and inflicted heavy casualties on them. Unfortunately, only you survived.

"I've been reading your combat record over the past week and found numerous admirable qualities. You are reported to be a strong leader, an obedient follower, a relentless fighter and an ardent believer in the Emperor."

Montross nodded mutely and the Space Marine continued in his grating voice. "There are several disciplinary issues though." Montross winced as he readied himself for the coming storm. "Refusing to advance against a Tyranid Hive-zone, shooting a Commissar, being lenient on malcontents… Yet you have a plethora of medals for one of your experience and rank. Unusual, to be sure.

"I took the liberty of researching your archives and discovered that you were once a felon, arrested numerous times for stealing and murder. From the records you are only twenty-seven, yet you have over thirty years in jail. How is that so?"

"Different guy, same name." Montross inhaled sharply as a twinge of pain lanced down his chest. "The archivists made a mistake and were too lazy to fix it."

"Noted." The Space Marine wrote a note on the tablet and grimaced. "In two weeks you will be fit for duty. My Brothers and I have studied your past carefully and come to the conclusion that you would make a welcome addition to our ranks, should you accept the offer. If not you will have your choice in the base ranks from your own planet as either a Commissar of a newly recruited battalion or a brevet-major in any battalion of your choice. I will give you two days to think it over. After that time has expired I will return."

The Space Marine rose abruptly and started for the door. When he reached the door he paused and looked back over his armored shoulder. "I warn you beforehand, the path to the Black Templar is not an easy one, with many physical hardships and few comforts. Should you pass the tests, however, your name will be praised forevermore in our Chapter-lists and the Emperor's glory will lift you to new heights from which the vile spawn of Chaos will flee in terror.

"Choose carefully, soldier. You cannot turn back once you have set your foot upon the path."

3/3


	3. The Path of the Blessed

_With a triumphant shout the company rose from the ditch and thundered out towards the enemies. Montross lifted his storm bolter to his shoulder and steadied his aim, against his armor. Sighting a target, he squeezed the trigger, relishing the kicks in his arm as a dozen bolts shot out and found their marks among the clustered Chaos spawn. A traitor Marine, armor stained black by Warp energy, cried out in pain as the high explosive rounds pierced his helmet and unleashed their payloads in his brain. Blood spurted out of the holes in his helm and sprayed the nearest acolytes, drenching them in the blood of their masters._

_There was a muffled explosion and Montross stumbled, pain shooting up his legs. His blessed armor was ripped and shredded from whatever had been set off nearby. Luckily for him a fallen Chaos Marine had absorbed the bulk of the blow. A fellow Marine was not so lucky. Brother Antony lay facedown on the ground, blood pooling at the crown of his head. His force pike rolled back to Montross and made a clunking noise as it hit his boot. Montross lifted the weapon reverently without slowing a hairsbreadth in his charge. Renewed vigor flooded his veins at the sight of his fallen brother. Righteous anger burned in his blood and he called down the Emperor's strength to aid him in the fray._

_Steel clashed against steel as the two forces met like two titanic waves. Acolytes fell like chaff before the might of the Emperor's warriors and many fled in terror, casting aside weapons and armor. The Chaos Marines, however, were made of sterner stuff. Duels began to form throughout the melee, whether in pairs or in whole squads. Montross himself found a Chaos Marine approaching him, ducking under blows and knocking back Brothers with inhuman ease._

_Brother Antony's force pike hummed with energy as Montross saluted the traitor. The traitor saluted back, brandishing a blade that burned with a darkness that swallowed light, leaving it as black as midnight. For a moment they stood still reveling in the fight that was about to take place. Then they fell upon each other like wolves._

_The traitor Marine feinted a low sweep with his sword and charged forward recklessly, bringing his blade back for a mighty blow. Montross leapt over the marine and brought his pike down on the Marine's back with all of his strength. Sparks showered them from the place of the blow and the Marine fell to his knees. Before Montross could turn, though, the traitor pushed off of the ground and lunged forward off-balance, hoping to catch him unawares. Here Montross' blessed armor showed its value. There was a horrible screeching noise as the blade scraped across his chest plate and slid down his arm. Montross brushed aside the sword with contemptuous ease and caught the Marine full in the gut with his steel boot. Both Montross and the Marine fell apart and landed heavily on the ground, one from his wounds, the other from the force of the blow._

_The Chaos Marine must have been of high status, for even as Montross rose unsteadily to his feet he saw that the fighting had for the most part ceased, and the whole of both forces was clustered around them, watching the conflict with undisguised interest. Loyal and traitorous stood side by side, their issues forgotten as these two icons dueled for supremacy._

_The knowledge that he was being watched by his Brothers strengthened Montross' resolve and put new energy into him. The Chaos Marine leapt up, clutching his chest. Even though a dark visor covered his face, Montross could feel the hatred burning through. His sword crossed the distance between them in the blink of an eye and hurled Montross backwards. Sharp pain stabbed at his gut as the blade slipped in between his armor plates. The force pike fell nerveless from his grasp as he hit the ground with a thud._

_"Not now," cried his Brothers. "For the Emperor. To the last breath!"_

No, this is not the end_, Montross wrenched the blade from his body and hurled it back at the waiting Chaos warrior. The blade's hilt struck him between the eyes and he staggered to his knees, screaming in pain as a blackened barb pierced his visor. In an instant Montross was on his feet and he limped forward, drawing his own axe. The holy blade gleamed in the waning light, throwing back the shadows that clutched at his feet._

_A gasp of horror rose from the ranks of Chaos as their champion struggled to rise. Blood trickled out from the crack in his visor and coated his boots in red. Unfazed by the wound, however, he rose and cast aside his visor, showing off the wound for all to see._

_The barb had been designed to rip flesh from bone, and had done its work well. The entire side of his face had been split open from his temple to his chin in a long, bloody line. No trace of pain showed on his leering features as he beckoned for Montross to advance._

_Montross paused just out of reach, looking for an avenue for attack. Seeing a momentary gap in his defenses, he dove forward and swept down with his axe. There was a horrid screech as the Chaos warrior's sword deflected the blow with an inch to spare. Before Montross could recover, the traitor pushed forward and drove him to the ground. Both weapons were cast aside as they grappled in the dirt, searching for the other's throat._

_Montross found his target first. His glove snaked in under the Chaos warrior's guard and he delivered a powerful jab to the traitor's throat. The traitor gasped in pain and his grip slackened for a bare moment. That was all Montross needed. His legs found a hold in the traitor's stomach and he pressed up with his entire will. The traitor flew in the air and landed among his fellow traitors, wheezing in pain._

_Montross pushed himself up and readied himself for the next attack. His axe was bent from the fall and the light had fled from its blade. With a grunt of sorrow he hurled the blade at his now-rising foe and searched for the force pike. The weapon was still undamaged and he smiled as it glowed brilliantly upon his touch._

_A roar of anger alerted him to his danger, but he was too slow. The Chaos Marine's blade crashed down upon his shoulder and split his shoulder armor like butter, sinking deep into his flesh. Stars exploded in his eyes as the force of the blow lifted him off of his feet and he collapsed like a rag doll. A shout of triumph rang in his ears as the blade descended again, cleaving through his chest armor and piercing him to the bone. A cry of pain escaped his lips and he knew that his time had come. The blade rose in the air a final time, this time for a killing blow._

_The last thing Montross saw were the looks of anguish and sorrow on the faces of his Brothers and he knew he had failed them. Then the blade began its descent and he closed his eyes, pleading to the Emperor for forgiveness._


End file.
